A Thousand Lifetimes
by Mudstar4ever
Summary: Stationed during Catching Fire, towards the end of the Victory Tour. Katniss is coming down with something, but how will she manage to present herself as a strong, independent individual to President Snow if she is sick? How will Haymitch and Peeta maintain her image of vitality when she's down with the flu?
1. Chapter 1

Katniss POV

I am balancing somewhere along the border between the solitary confinement of my surreal imagination and consciousness when Peeta somehow manages to locate the part of my brain that harbors my conscience. Though I can openly recognize that I feel guilty about hurting him – no, killing him – I cannot quite fathom the drive behind my feelings of remorse.

It hasn't escaped him, knowing that our love was nothing but a ruse formulated by Haymitch and myself to gamble our survival through the Games. And yet he is still so adamant about maintaining our relationship, however simple it may be. This is what frustrates me the most. I assure myself every day that I am not obligated to him; I saved his life, multiple times I might add, and I owe him nothing, especially not something as trivial as offering my heart to him.

I tell myself this as I emerge from my state of restless slumber, but even as I stir and shift silently beneath the blankets, I can feel him. His armored chest is firm against my left shoulder, brushing against my skin every time the train experiences turbulence.

I have no memory of my night being punctuated by any particular nightmares, for they plague my subconscious every night, but I suppose sometime throughout the duration of the night, I succumbed to one of my dreams and disturbed Peeta, one door over. Like nearly every other night, he slipped into my room and silenced my screams, holding me in a tight hug until my spirit felt calm enough to drift away in the warmth and security of his embrace.

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the wave of self-disgust that threatens to overwhelm me once more. Lying here in the presence of someone so selfless, how could I possibly not feel obligated to him?

I let out a soft sigh, but to my surprise, my breath catches in my throat and I give a small cough, clearing my throat in an attempt to prevent my companion from waking. My efforts are in vain, however, as I am met with the brilliant blue eyes of the boy with the bread. He immediately begins to search my face without even a single thought toward his own well-being.

"You okay?" he asks in a slightly amused tone, still heavy with sleep.

I nod, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm fine, sorry," I whisper back, but in reality this is not the case.

The back of my throat burns sharply and I can already feel the pressure of congestion at the bridge of my nose stimulating a headache. But I don't relay this to Peeta.

His eyes linger on my face for a moment longer, then he offers his smallest, simplest smile that makes my skin crawl. "Okay."

Just then there's a knock on our door and Haymitch's muffled voice reaches our ears from the bed. "Hey, lovebirds, can we come in or would the scene meeting our eyes not be age-appropriate for present company?"

We can hear Effie trilling at our mentor in her high-pitched, disapproving tone from behind the door and Peeta and I exchange a bemused smirk before he softly calls out, "It's safe."

The automated doors slide open and Effie Trinket promenades into the room with her overly adept grace, closely followed by Cinna. Her eyes are bright with positivity as usual, but we can tell by her tightly pursed lips that our mentor has already considerably annoyed her this morning. A twinge of satisfaction and respect for Haymitch makes the corner of my mouth twitch just as he saunters into the room with his air of lassitude, a confident smirk displayed upon his sallow features.

"Oh good," he says in his most satirical tone. "I was hoping I had assumed correctly when you mentioned that there was 'safety' involved,"

He raises his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, causing Effie to let out a chirp of disgust and slap his shoulder with the pair of off-white gloves she clutches in her right hand. I catch Haymitch's eye and he flashes a wink at me.

"Children," Effie begins, clasping her hands together. "Today we—"

"Children?" I repeat angrily.

Dammit, Effie. Just when I start to like her, just when I start to think that she might just be a very inconsiderate woman with an irritating personality, she goes ahead and says things like this and then I'm pissed.

Then I remember: Effie is just another abomination from the Capitol.

Even though we're Victors, she still views Peeta and me as nothing more than silly children who happened to win a game show. No. Even if we weren't within a year of coming of age, the horrors we had to endure and experience were enough to craft us into two mature individuals, stripped of any traces of youthful innocence.

"Katniss and Peeta," Effie corrects herself, closing her eyes for a moment for patience. "Today we will be visiting District Two who, as you have heard many times throughout the duration of your short lives, specialize in masonry. Fun fact: they also produce most of Panem's forces of Peacekeepers."

But I am not listening to Effie's overly enthusiastic spiel about the district we are appearing before. My head has begun to pound incessantly, the uproars of the riots from the preceding districts fill my head, making it hard for me to concentrate. I lift a hand to my temple, cringing against the sharp cries of a nation so desperate for a revolution. A revolution that I can't lead because I'm only seventeen and President Snow has threatened to kill my family and friends and oh my head hurts and. . .

"Katniss,"

I blink in confusion. All pairs of eyes are staring at me, Peeta's especially, who sits beside me watching my face closely with a furrowed brow.

I drop my hand from my head and clear my raw throat once again. "Sorry," I rasp, my voice sounding hoarse. I flush with embarrassment.

"Katniss—" Effie begins.

"What," I retort, just a little too harshly. I then lower my voice to a much softer octave. "What?"

But it's Cinna who says it. "Katniss, are you feeling okay?"

I dare to meet Peeta's eyes, his features softened with concern, and I am only reminded once more of how much he genuinely cares for me and how little he invests in himself.

"I'm fine," I say, clearing my throat again. "My throat's just a little rough."

"We can tell," Effie says in a tone that suggests that my condition is somehow inconveniencing herself. "Your voice sounds rather hoarse." Her mind is visibly reeling as she attempts to grasp control of the little curveball I have just thrown at her.

The room is silent.

I, for one, can't stand attention and I especially dislike being fussed over. Not that it happens very often, if at all, but maybe that's what makes me so obstinate in the first place. Ever since my father died, I've had to pull my own weight and provide for my mother and Prim. There simply wasn't time to feel sorry for myself or ask others for help. The world we live in is a cruel place and there just isn't room for pity when you're fighting to survive. It just doesn't work that way.

I shrug at them. "It's really not a big deal, guys. I'll be fine," I glance around the room, feeling frustrated by their wild-eyed stares. "Look, you were saying something about District Two?" I say, hoping to deter them away from the topic.

"Well, maybe we can give her something that will make her sound less. . ." Haymitch trails off, gesturing toward me as he tries to come up with an appropriate adjective. "Unattractive."

I scowl at him as he throws a triumphant glance over my way.

"Perhaps if we get a couple of lemon lozenges or some honey and tea into her it will help soften her vocals a little before the cameras," Cinna suggests lightly.

I groan inwardly. The cameras! I had almost forgotten about my predetermined speech that I would have to give live before the entire country. Every minute on camera counts in terms of my deal with President Snow, but I can't see how I could possibly appear strong and hopelessly in love with Peeta when I sound like I have just recently gotten into a bar fight and someone has punched me in the throat.

On top of that, I greatly detest tea. I've never liked the taste, at least none that I've been given the opportunity to try, and for some reason every time I even catch the scent of tea, I would be hit with a wave of intense nausea.

I am vaguely aware that my team is discussing how to handle the less-than-satisfactory quality of my voice when a very powerful, demanding sensation strikes my sinuses and I find myself unable to suppress what is to come.

The group discussion gradually trails off and once again all four gazes have fallen upon me as I turn away from Peeta and let out a string of three heaving sneezes into the crook of my arm. I emerge, sniffling.

"Oh! Nooo," Effie trills in a distressed voice. "See, no, this isn't going to work. Katniss obviously isn't well and I can't see how she can possibly perform a speech in a front of a live audience on national television in this condition."

"Maybe we should just ask Katniss how she feels about all of this," Haymitch drawls, leaning against the doorframe.

Cinna crosses the room and squats in front of me, where Peeta and I sit on the edge of the bed, and closely examines my face. "Katniss," he says in his soft, suave voice. "Do you think you'll be okay to make an appearance today?"

I think back to previous Hunger Games. Has a Victor ever delayed their Victory Tour for any reason or were they not able to get away with it? Surely in seventy-three years, some unfortunate circumstance has led to a Tour being postponed a couple of days. I think of how alleviating it would feel if I could just roll back over and go to sleep. But then, as if I had summoned him, the image of Snow is conjured before my eyes and I know that I have to go on. How could I appear strong and independent if I was shamefully requesting a sick day? Besides, I don't think any of my familiar nightmares would have prevented themselves from interjecting into my much-needed sleep.

I clear my throat. "No, no. I'm alright," I assure him. "Let's just carry on as planned."

Cinna looks almost disappointed by my response, but after a few moments he nods once and says, "Okay." He places his hands on his thighs and pushes himself up into a stand, casting one last glance of unease down at me. "Alright, then." He turns away from me. "Portia is waiting for you in your room, Peeta."

Peeta hesitates, eying me warily as he slides from the bed, rising to his full height, his muscles rippling beneath his soft white shirt. I cannot help but feel attracted to the stocky build of the broad-shouldered blonde to some degree. He was athletic, handsome, witty, and compassionate. What was preventing me from genuinely sharing feelings of affection for him?

Oh yeah. Gale.

I watch him go, feeling torn. Why does everything always have to be so difficult? A year ago I thought of love as such a trivial matter that naïve adolescents like me always distorted into something more complex than it needed to be. Now here I am, presented with the ideal partner who loves me unconditionally and all I can think of is a rowdy, violent rebel who is far more engaged with the thought of inciting a mass uprising against the Capitol than he is establishing individual relationships with people he cares about.

"We'll see you soon, sweetheart," Haymitch says as he and Effie leave the room.

Now alone with Cinna, I find myself unable to stifle the rough coughs that fight their way through my damaged throat.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Cinna presses gently. "You don't need to feel pressured, you know."

I laugh half-heartedly. "It's not like we can just cancel the Victory Tour, Cinna," He frowns at me. "Honestly, I'm fine. It sounds worse than it is."

Cinna looks at me skeptically, but he drops it. After single-handedly dressing me in a simple, slimming black outfit with a soft and flexible material, Cinna guides me down to the dining car, where everyone else is already eating. Peeta is dressed in an identical outfit, albeit obvious gender technicalities. Very little makeup was applied. Our faces were gently erased with fair-colored foundation and redrawn with a fine-tipped pencil. Cinna and Portia preferred that the heavy makeup be suspended until tomorrow, since District One was known for supplying the Capitol with glamorous luxuries. Cinna, however, added a healthier glow to my cheeks because I guess I was looking rather pale.

"Katniss," Effie greeted jovially. "Sit. Eat."

I cross the room and claim the seat beside Peeta, who I could tell is trying hard not to acknowledge my symptoms, which I greatly appreciate. Everyone else, however, seemed to be assessing my level of appetite at various ranges of subtlety, so I carefully choose two slices of bread, a hard-boiled egg, and an apple. Satisfied, everyone turns back to their meals and continues to indulge on their conversations.

Despite my rather bold selection for breakfast, I'm really not feeling brave enough to try and finish my plate. I am hungry, yes, but not quite hungry enough to follow through with my commitment. Nevertheless, I carefully begin to spread strawberry jam on my toast. I figure if I eat slow enough, no one will notice whether or not I have actually finished my meal.

The usual conversations carries out casually throughout the duration of the meal with Effie handing us our 'infallible' set of index cards for us to recite during our speeches. She drones over proper manners and other useless information and soon enough, a Peacekeeper informs us that we will be arriving in District Two within ten minutes. Feeling my stomach give an unpleasant jolt, I turn my head and cough in the opposite direction as everyone else. Thankfully, no one focuses their attention on me anymore.

"Are you ready?" Peeta asks rather emotionlessly, his eyes blank with the dull hurt of having to pretend that our relationship is valid.

A lump forms in the back of my already irritated throat. "Yes," I say, our hands finding each other unconsciously as we stand behind the closed doors of the train where the cameras await. "Just. . ." I swallow, feeling obligated to say something, but not having the courage to follow through with it. "Remember to wash your hands afterwards, so you don't get sick."

I bite my lip, feeling utterly disgusted with myself. Beside me, Peeta suppresses a small grin. I wonder what's running through his mind as the automated doors slide open and we brace ourselves for the scrutinizing gazes of our entire nation.


	2. Chapter 2

Katniss POV

The automated doors slide open and Peeta and I are met with the sight of our quietest district visit yet. It seems as though the entire population of District Two is present. Everyone is organized in tightly formed lines, all of them exercising basic uniform position. Peacekeepers with menacing-looking weapons line the peripheral of the clearing as Peeta and I follow Effie, shielding our eyes against the intensity of the sun. We shuffle blindly toward the Justice Building where we are formally greeted by the mayor.

My throat begins to tickle again and I resist the temptation to cough. I am only too aware of the blinking red light hovering like an insect just inches from our faces. The mayor, a rather thickset man in his early forties with a rather unattractive pencil-thin mustache shakes our hands.

"Welcome, Katniss and Peeta, Victors of the 74th annual Hunger Games," he says, his voice booming loudly; he has obviously worked with the Peacekeeper training corps at some point in his life to develop such a well-defined, authoritative call. "I am Mayor Kona Freeman and I would like to extend my hand as a formal greeting from the wonderful things that District Two has to offer."

As if someone had given the order, every single individual in the clearing adopts a very insincere, almost desperate round of applause. This is all very standard protocol. Mayor Freeman goes on to say other introductory bullshit that I don't care to listen to and then we are ushered into the Justice Building, safe within the spacious cavern of the marble interior, leaving the cameras lingering behind the tightly shut doors. I immediately satisfy the demanding sensation of my throat, my harsh coughs reverberating through the linoleum palace.

"Feeling under the weather, Miss Everdeen?" asks Mayor Freeman, glancing over his shoulder at me in a casual manner.

Now that we are alone, I am reminded by something Haymitch had warned me at breakfast. District Two is more closely tied to the Capitol than any of the districts in Panem. Therefore, Mayor Freeman was closely affiliated to President Snow, which means I would have to treat the situation very carefully.

"Just allergies," Effie waves away my ailment with a white-gloved hand. "Nothing that our little star-crossed lovers can't handle." She pinches our cheeks with a smile.

Though I feel annoyed by Effie's actions, I can't help but wonder if I should be appreciative of her emphasizing the 'star-crossed lovers' trend. Perhaps she could have just saved our lives, even if she doesn't know it.

Mayor Freeman just nods and continues to lead us through his 'humble abode'. I try not to sniffle as we follow along, though Effie is kind enough to slip a couple of cherry-flavored cough drops into my hand. I take them gratefully.

Soon, we are standing behind the closed doors of the entrance of the Justice Building, two attendants adjusting the microphones on our lapels and dabbing makeup on our faces. The powdery substance threatens to make me sneeze again, but I somehow manage to waft it away.

"Alright, you know what to do. Just read the cards Effie gave you and we'll be on our way," Haymitch preps us, though there is a hint of exasperation in his voice. "This should be easy, since none of the people here are sure to give you any trouble."

I stare at him blankly, too engrossed with the premeditating state of self-consciousness before performing before a large crowd, let alone an entire country. I sniffle, struggling to get a gist of my mentor's words when Haymitch kindly passes along his handkerchief in my hands.

"Go," he instructs, waving me away.

I offer him a thankful glance as I round the corner and quickly blow my nose. I feel guilty using Haymitch's handkerchief, as this is something he will necessarily want back in his possession, but he owes me one for assisting him in his drunken state so frequently. At least, this is what I tell myself when I abandon the used strip of cloth in a large potted plant. I emerge, coughing, and go to stand beside Peeta once more, who is now alone.

"You okay?" he whispers, peering closely at my face.

I clear my throat and manage a rather convincing nod. "Yeah," I say, pleased to notice that my voice sounds much better than it did earlier this morning.

Peeta looks as though he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't say anything as our fingers embrace. As the doors begin to open, we emerge into the sunlight, waving enthusiastically at the applauding crowd.

The presentation blows over quicker than I expected. Mayor Freeman presents us with our awards and our speeches are so redundant from all of the rehearsing that it feels as though the words are coming from someone else's lips. Other than the occasional break of my voice, on the whole, I sound relatively normal, even if I don't necessarily feel that way. It's when I catch a glimpse of Cato's face on the large television above his family gathered on the platform that I start to break out in a cold sweat.

I squeeze Peeta's hand as the uproar of the crowd is replaced with the howls and snarls of the mutts, tearing Cato apart as he implores us to end his life. I dab perspiration from my lip as the heavy scent of blood triggers my gag reflex and suddenly I'm afraid I'm going to puke on national television in front of a live audience.

Peeta takes one glance at the ashen pallor of my face and immediately launches into a very rushed goodbye as we depart from the stage. I can hear Mayor Freeman's brief moment of confusion, before he turns to the crowd and begins to formally close the ceremony. Peeta has his left arm around my waist for support and leads me away to a marble bench, not stopping until the telltale clank of the shutting doors informs us that we are safe from prying eyes for now.

"Katniss," he says quietly, squatting in front of me so that he can see my face. "Katniss, are you going to throw up?"

I certainly would like to, but unfortunately I'm just left with the bitterness of nausea as I sit caressing my head with my hand, sniffling.

"No," I laugh rather shakily. "I'm okay now," I take a couple of deep breaths, then frown at him. "Sorry." I say for no particular reason.

"Hey, it's okay," Peeta assures me, offering me one of his sweetest smiles; my stomach flutters with pleasure. "We made it through. Now all we have to do is make it through lunch and then we're back on the train in no time at all, alright?"

Lunch. I swallow back the bile that has proceeded to rise in my throat. Peeta must have read my expression, because he flashes me a rather crooked smile.

"Leave it to me. Just slip me the extra portions you don't want and I'll take care of it for you. No worries."

He strokes my face gently and I manage a grateful smile. The loud clacking of Effie's high heels against the marble floor echoes through the room.

"Katniss, are you okay?" she trills, her voice distressed as she approaches us.

"She's alright," Peeta assures them, his eyes still trained on me, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. "We just needed a moment to collect ourselves."

We. It's the little things that Peeta says that make one feel so special. He really implements that we're a team. And we are. We're partners in this deal, trying to navigate our way through dangerous waters. Do I love him? Of course. But do I love him in the way he loves me? Never. I don't think anyone can match Peeta's passion and devotion. But maybe someday I will certainly try.

"You were looking a little shaky towards the end there," said Haymitch. "But I don't think anybody else really noticed. We just happened to know what we were looking for."

I nod. That's good. I honestly don't care what happens to me as long as everyone else perceives it as normal. _'Convince me,'_ Snow had said, his voice echoing in my mind. Part of me wants the districts to view me as strong for the revolution. Hell, I don't want to be the face of the rebellion, but if there was even the slightest opportunity for change, I sort of want to utilize my influence over the nation.

"Well, good," Effie chirps. "Then let's treat ourselves to a little District Two cuisine and then maybe after a hearty meal Katniss will be feeling much better."

Food is the last thing I want right now, but Effie is being so sincere and I'm just too tired to argue. Biting back a retort, I nod and Peeta helps me get to my feet. I sway slightly, feeling my stomach give a dangerous lurch, but the momentary dizziness passes. Haymitch and Peeta glance at me curiously.

"I'm okay," I assure them, frustrated by the attention as I follow Effie through the large double doors that lead to the extravagant dining hall.

When we emerge into the spacious room, I stand and blink in surprise. In the center of the room, surrounded by various large white tables is a small fountain with a statue of President Snow standing on a pedestal. The sight of the chiseled white rose tucked in his breast pocket nearly sends me over the edge again, but I take a deep breath and follow Effie to our table. Peeta holds the chair back for me and I sit down, Peeta on my left, Haymitch on my right, staring directly into the eyes of Mayor Freeman.

The chatter is very casual and conversational, though I cannot help but notice that the mayor's eyes are trained on me more often than not. I'm seriously wondering if I'm just being paranoid, when all of a sudden he directs a question at me and the entire atmosphere of the meal immediately changes.

"So tell me, Katniss," he says, shifting in his seat. "In those final moments in the arena, when you pulled out those berries, what was going through your head?" Already I can tell that Snow is watching me. I don't know exactly what his methods consist of, perhaps the statue contains a voice recording system or something, but I know for a fact that Snow is watching me right now. And he's carefully weighing my response.

The room falls silent. Suddenly I'm wondering if Peeta and I are being publicly filmed. I have a faint notion that the nation is watching me at this moment. I set down my fork, clearing my throat as I carefully think about how to word this. I feel Peeta tense beside me.

"When I found Peeta by the riverbed," I begin slowly. "I realized that we had a chance," I'm looking at Peeta now, lost in the cobalt depths of his eyes. "I was so afraid that if I let myself fall for this boy, that nothing good would come of it. One of us would have to die. But when Claudius Templesmith made the announcement about letting two victors from the same district win," My voice cracks badly. The cough drops Effie slipped me earlier are starting to wear off. But somehow I manage to make it into an emotional thing. "That's when I realized how much Peeta meant to me," I swallow hard, my inflamed throat closing up a little as I feel the heat of tears welling up in my eyes. "And how much he means to me now."

Peeta's eyes are trained on me, taking in every word. Because he knows I'm not lying. What I say now is entirely truthful and I watch as he is gauging my words.

"Being told that the previous rule had been revoked after letting ourselves become so involved with one another and fighting so _hard_ to stay alive," I pause to sort my inconsistent thoughts. "It just. . .I couldn't. . ."

I'm having difficulty concentrating and suddenly I find myself completely incoherent. My lips are moving, forming words that will never be spoken and I have to stop and close my eyes. The room is literally dead quiet as they wait for me to elaborate.

"Living in a world without Peeta," I say slowly, my voice noticeably hoarse now, both from my cold and my emotional state. "Isn't worth living at all. I would rather have never met Peeta than to have one of us die after such a short-lived time together and just dwelling in the 'what if's'."

Silence follows my words.

I open my mouth to say more, but my throat rebels and my stifled cough comes out as a muffled croak, which Peeta and Haymitch manage to transform into my dissolving into tears. Peeta pulls me into a tight embrace and I bury my face into his neck, sniffling. I can hear Haymitch smoothly wrapping up the conversation, excusing my slight meltdown, but later as the train doors shut behind us, he gives me a big thumbs-up.

"You're golden, sweetheart," he says with a chuckle. "That was very well played."

"Nice job," Peeta says, eying me warily.

I can tell he's still registering the meaning behind my speech, trying to figure out how much of it was valid. I try to reassure him with a small, but sincere smile. "Meet me in the common room after we change?"

Peeta's face brightens. "I'm there,"

I'm sitting on the floor of my shower, curled upright in a tight ball, my arms wrapped around my legs. I'm having an intense relapse of flashbacks, the most gruesome scenes cutting into my consciousness. I can hear the lethal buzzing of the tracker jackers, the blood-chilling howls of the mutts, the sickening sound of the end of an arrow penetrating into the flesh of my enemies. . .

I gag, threatening to be sick right there in the shower, but nothing happens. I rest my face in my hands, attempting to grasp reality and stand my ground against the arena's influence over me. Eventually, the sound of the running water drowns out the scents of blood and death and I manage to peel myself up off the floor and shut the water off. After gently toweling myself off, I decide to just dress into my pajamas, even though it's only 3:00 in the afternoon.

Peeta is already waiting for me as I emerge into the common room. He's sitting on the loveseat sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, mindlessly watching some stupid movie from the Capitol. He glances up as I walk in.

"Hey," he says, turning his attention back to the TV.

"Hey," I breathe, my voice sounding a little rough.

I sit down beside him, close enough for us to be touching but not quite close enough to snuggle. I slouch down and cross my arms, trying to make sense of whatever the hell we're watching.

It appears to be some movie series about a woman who fakes her own death to escape her violent husband, but he somehow always discovers her whereabouts and follows her across the country, murdering her potential love interests as he goes. I can't help but wonder if the movies are just a metaphor of my own life, with Snow being the homicidal fiend and me being the woman who pretends to be someone she's not to try to save her own skin, but the people she loves always ending up dead anyway.

Dinner comes and goes and eventually Haymitch and Effie join us, staring mindlessly at the screen as night falls outside. We're on our third installment of the series when I start to feel rather uncomfortable. My head is swimming with unorganized thoughts and a sharp pain shoots up across my temple every time I sneeze or cough. I'm leaning against Peeta now, my head resting on his shoulder as I try to concentrate on the movie. Peeta's hand is gently stroking my shoulder and I can tell his mind is elsewhere, probably still thinking about my televised speech about him. How selfish of me.

I'm queasy and dizzy as we near the climax of the plot and fatigue weighs heavily upon my aching muscles. I glance at the clock on the mantel above the TV. 7:31 pm.

Way too early to be going to bed, but eventually I simply can't stand sitting in this room with other people. I sniffle once, and then lift my head to peer at Peeta's face.

"I'm going to go bed," I whisper to him, carefully detaching myself from his warm body that smells faintly of a pleasant, oaky cologne.

Peeta looks at me curiously, but only says, "Okay,"

I gracelessly get to my feet, then slowly cross the room toward the train doors, my head starting to pound and my flesh crawling with goosebumps.

"Going to bed, sweetheart?" Haymitch drawls from his chair.

"Aw, honey, are you not feeling well?" Effie murmurs, fixing me a sympathetic pout.

I merely shake my head and turn back to the doors as they slide open, too exhausted to argue.

"Okay, Katniss," Effie calls after me. "Well, if you need anything, we're just down the hall."

I don't make any notion that I've heard, I just simply shuffle toward my room, not even bothering to wash up or brush my teeth. I collapse on my bed with a satisfied huff, but almost immediately I'm wracked by shivering. I carefully wrap myself up into a cocoon of blankets, feeling feverish and achy. I close my eyes and almost immediately fall into a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

Peeta POV

I awake to the sound of coughing.

It takes me awhile to register what exactly has disturbed my fitful slumber as I lie in bed, blinking drowsily through the gloom. I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling, where a clock on the coffee table beside me projects the current time conveniently above my head.

3:47 am.

Puzzled, I sit up a little and rub my eyes. I try to think back to the night before, leading up to when I eventually fell asleep. I had long since bid good night to Effie and Haymitch and had remained parked comfortably on the couch, listlessly watching the rest of the movie series that we had all been watching. Shortly after the conclusion of the final film, I switched off the TV and lumbered down the hall toward my room. I had paused to listen for any sound of my companion stirring, but all was silent in her room. I had not fallen asleep until after another hour and a half of being cursed by insomnia, but nothing seemed unusual.

Confused more than ever, I massage my neck, trying to pinpoint what exactly has distressed my resting state. And suddenly, I'm met with my answer. In the few minutes it has taken for me to get my bearings, I realize that not all is quiet on this high-speed train. Even from one room over, I can hear her violently coughing in an unbroken stream.

Katniss.

Immediately, I whip back the covers and get to my feet. I step into the hall, hesitating outside of her door. Now that I am mostly coherent and awake, I realize how familiar the sound is. Like I've been unconsciously hearing it all night, but it never went on long enough for me to notice. Now it has aroused me from my bed and cold dread courses through my veins as I hear her struggle to contain her fit. I very slowly open the door and take a tentative step inside.

She sits upright in her bed, her legs swung around to the side as she clutches her chest with her hand. She's hunched over as she tries to catch her breath and the air is thick and stuffy with the stench of sickness. I can tell that she's been awake for a while. I slowly cross the room and sit down beside her on the bed, wrapping my arm around her waist as her body heaves. Each cough sounds deep and painful and with every punctuated inhale, her throat tickles her and she falls into an endless cycle of misery.

"I'm sorry," she croaks in between coughs.

My expression softens. "Hey," I breathe. "It's okay. You're sick. That's not your fault."

Her shirt is damp and sweaty beneath my palm and I can see that she kicked off her pants in the middle of the night. They lay on the floor beneath our feet. She sits in her underwear, wearing a soft white shirt that falls to her hips.

"I didn't mean to wake you," she whispers, taking a quivering breath as she manages to momentarily stifle the fit.

"I was already awake," I lie, stroking her back in small circles as she struggles to catch her breath. She fails, however, as she falls into another bout of coughing. "Do you want me to get you some water?"

She shakes her head. "No, that's okay." But she lurches forward once more as she coughs, her body rebelling against her.

I can feel her shivering beside me. "I'll be right back." I whisper, slowly rising from the bed.

She thanks me as I slip out of the room only to come face-to-face with Haymitch. He slouches against the wall across from her room, dressed in dirty gray sweat pants and an old striped nightshirt. From what I can tell, I think that he usually sleeps without a shirt on, because none of the corresponding buttons match up and he is clumsily dressed up to his collarbone, as if he gave any second thoughts toward his appearance.

A couple of doors down the hall, Effie is poking her head out, peering at me with wide, distressed eyes. "Is that Katniss coughing?"

I glance at Haymitch. "I was just going to get her some water," I tell them, continuing on my way to the kitchen.

By the time I return to her room, Effie has claimed my spot on the bed, holding Katniss close to her chest. I'm surprised by how gentle she is acting. Sometimes I forget that, regardless of how ignorant Effie can be, she really does care a great deal about us.

Now that Katniss has temporarily fallen silent, I can see how flushed her face is, a light sheen of sweat illuminating her features. Effie is whispering comforting things to her as I stand, watching for a few moments, before I cross the room and hand the glass of water out to Katniss, who is still concentrating on catching her breath, but she manages a grateful glance.

"Thank you, Peeta," Effie says, taking the glass from me.

She facilitates Katniss as her trembling hands grasp the cup and brings it up to her lips. She takes a few sips, before she chokes, spluttering into the glass as Effie whisks it away from her and sets it down on the table beside the bed.

"Okay, okay," Effie murmurs quietly, holding her in a tight hug as Katniss shudders. She carefully brushes away sweaty strands of hair as she palms her forehead. "You feel warm," she says with a frown.

I glance at Haymitch, who stands next to the bed with a scowl on his face and his arms folded across his chest. "I'll go find a thermometer," he says at last, catching my eye as he walks out the door.

I let out a soft sigh, then go to sit on the other side of Katniss, slipping my arm protectively around her waist. For the first time since I've known Effie, the two of us sit in silence until the door opens. But to our surprise, it's Cinna who glides across the room, concern etched upon his features. Like Effie, he doesn't appear to be dressed in anything remotely resembling pajamas, but the simple silk of their outfits at least appear comfortable to some degree.

"How is she?" he asks.

"We're not sure," I say. "Haymitch went to go find a thermometer."

Cinna squats in front of Katniss, who sits with an almost puzzled expression on her face. "Katniss," he says, taking her hands in his.

"Hey, Cinna," she rasps, offering him a small smile.

He reaches out his hand and gently caresses her cheek just as Haymitch enters the room. He prudently shuts the door behind him and then goes to stand beside the rest of us, holding out a thin thermometer with a tapered end.

"Here, sweetheart."

With quivering hands, Katniss fingers the plastic instrument, her brow furrowed slightly. "It goes in my mouth, right?"

Haymitch lets out a short bark of laughter. "I sure as hell wouldn't still be in the room if it didn't."

I can't help but smirk a little at that. We all watch as Katniss slips the thermometer under her tongue and wait in silence until it beeps. Effie takes it from her mouth before Katniss can even react.

"102.7." she states with a frown.

Everyone shuffles a little, letting out small sounds of discontent. Katniss seems to squirm beneath our stares, obviously uncomfortable with all of the attention, but she doesn't protest.

"Okay," I say at last, bringing my hands together as I look up at Haymitch expectantly. "What happens now?"

"Well," Haymitch runs a hand through his hair in a thoughtful manner. "We'll be arriving in District One in less than eight hours. I could snag a Peacekeeper and just pull the plug on the whole thing—"

"No!"

Everyone looks at Katniss in surprise. She looks even a little dumbfounded herself, as if she wasn't expecting her thoughts to have found a voice.

"Um," she says uncertainly. "I really don't think that's a good idea."

"Well, I really don't think that you're in a coherent enough state to make that argument," Haymitch shoots back, snatching the thermometer and waving it in the air for good measure.

"What the hell do you think Snow would say?" Katniss argues, her gaze falling upon me as well.

This stops us short. Haymitch and I glance at each other uneasily.

"Well, there's no way you can appear before all of Panem in eight hours," Cinna points out. "It would be unethical of us to let you go on."

Katniss lets out a frustrated huff, which ends in a cough. "Haymitch," she begins, but she can't finish her sentence as her body is wracked by another bout of coughing.

Haymitch is silent, his hand stroking his chin as he studies her. "Well," he says at last. "Katniss, how do you feel?"

Effie gapes at him in shock. "How does she feel? How could you possibly—"

"I have to go," Katniss pleads, sniffling. "Haymitch, you have to understand that."

Haymitch sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose exasperatedly. After several long moments of silence, he turns to Cinna. "How healthy can you make her look?"

Cinna purses his lips tightly. "I can probably hide the flush, but I can't take away the fever from her eyes."

Haymitch opens his mouth to respond, when Effie cuts in. "You two honestly can't be serious. Just look at her right now. She's exhausted."

"Better let her sleep then," Haymitch argues. "She's going to need all the rest she can get."

Effie's jaw drops and she looks as though she wants to say something more, but eventually she just gives a discouraged sigh and rises to her feet. "I can't believe we are putting her through this." she says with finality, leaving the room in a flourish.

"You sure you want to go through with this, Katniss?" I ask, rubbing her back in small circles.

Katniss exhales a quivering breath and then nods. "I have to, don't I?" She smiles half-heartedly at me.

"Get some sleep then," Haymitch growls like the proper mentor that he is.

Katniss coughs and then says, "Okay."

This sort of mindless submission disturbs me slightly. For as long as I've known her, Katniss has never been able to straight up obey an order, at least not without a snarky comment or two. To hear her just wearily agree with Haymitch's demands sends sadness coursing through me. Even Haymitch looks a little taken aback.

"We'll wake you up a little later than usual," Cinna promises, bending down to kiss her forehead. "Good night, girl on fire."

The irony of the statement makes us chuckle slightly and I smile at her. "Do you want me to stay?"

"I don't want to get you sick," she mumbles, though I can tell from her expression that she would love to have some company in her state of misery.

The sight of her almost child-like pout makes me want to just scoop her up and rock her to sleep, but I settle with wiping a strand of sticky hair from her face. "Don't worry about me."

She smiles and I slip under the covers with her, her trembling body radiating unnatural heat in the confines of the blankets. I hold her close to me, wondering if she can feel how hard my heart is pounding for her; she lays her head upon my shoulder and rests her hand on my chest.

"Well, if you're going to be spreading disease in here," Haymitch says with a mischievous smirk. "Try not to share any STD's, at least, alright?"

"Fuck you," she says with a throaty laugh, nuzzling her face into my shirt as our mentor slips out of the room and leaves us in the shadows of her bed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the wait! I just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed my story so far, your feedback is greatly appreciated! ^^**

**- HW**

Katniss POV

I am a mockingjay.

Snowflakes whisper around our faces, the musty odors of the Seam dancing with the light breeze, and I can taste the coal dust in the warmth of his mouth as our tongues match each other's strength. It isn't a very long kiss, but it's enough to make the all-consuming fire ignite deep within my soul and rise to the surface. Before I know it, my wings are lifting me up off the ground and carrying me away from him.

"Gale," I cry out softly, but I'm much too elated to feel frustrated by our punctuated embrace.

My feelings of euphoria instill a lightness in my body that I could never achieve before as I soar gracefully across the sky. Suddenly, I hear Peeta's voice beckon me from above.

"Katniss," he murmurs and I can see him beaming at me with his radiant smile, his eyes shimmering iridescently like cerulean fire.

I match his grin and direct my flight upwards toward him. I continue to climb until a single, cold whisper slices through the harmony.

"Convince me."

Suddenly, Peeta's face is gone and in his place President Snow dwells, blood trickling from his lips and his eyes scorching with his blistering gaze. My ebony feathers have begun to smolder until my entire body transforms into a brand a flame and I'm screaming in pain. My wings melt and drip from my body like candle wax, sending me plunging to my death. This is my fall from grace.

Below me, the forest lies. My home. My sanctuary.

The trees intercept my plummet, cradling me with their soft branches, and gently set me down onto the ground. I steal a glance at my appearance; my skin is carbonized and black and my feathers have been reduced to charcoal. My eyes are the only light that shines from the endless abyss that is my body. A familiar whistle through the air instinctively causes me to drop down and an arrow penetrates deep into the bark of the tree where my head was just a heartbeat before. I tentatively rise to my feet, only to see Gale glowering over me, his eyes pits of hatred.

"Gale," I plead. "It's me, Katniss."

His lip curls with disgust.

"It's Catnip," I add, hoping to jog his memory, but a wild light enters his eyes at the mention of my nickname.

"You don't have to explain anything, I know what you are," he snarls, his words filled with venom. "I was too blinded by affection to see before, but now I know exactly what you are. Nothing more than a filthy mutt. An abomination from the Capitol." Hurt sparks in his eyes and his voice adopts a peculiar tenderness. "You promised me that it was all just an act," he whispers uncertainly, his eyes clouded with memories. But they're quickly replaced with intense animosity. "You go off and marry that baker boy who has never suffered like we have before? You spend all your time enjoying your little fruit cocktails in the Capitol, but you know something, Katniss? Now you're just one of them. You're one of _them!_"

Just then, he lunges toward me with outstretched hands and I merely stand frozen to my spot, struck dumb by his words.

I jolt awake, breathing rapidly, my eyes wide as adrenaline courses through my veins from my fevered dreams. It takes me a few seconds too long to realize that none of it was valid, but I can still feel the raw ache of grief at the thought of its hidden definition. I sigh softly, and then shiver with cold beneath my blankets, realizing that my outlet of body heat is gone. His absence is felt in the cold emptiness beside me on the bed and I find myself stroking the sheets with my palm wistfully, as if hoping to conjure his appearance.

I roll over onto my side, only to knock over the glass of water that was set on the table beside my bed with my elbow, causing it to fall to the floor with a loud, dull _thunk!_

Though the glass didn't break, the water has soaked the carpet and I know the sound will attract somebody. Hearing footsteps in the hall, I roll back over and pretend to be asleep as the door to my room slowly opens and someone steps inside.

I hear the soft shuffling of feet as they walk across the room, bend over to pick up the glass, then pause beside my bed. At first, I think it is either Effie or Peeta, but I'm surprised to feel the cool, calloused hand of Haymitch slip across my forehead. It lingers there for a few seconds and I feel a strange sensation tingling in my stomach. I feel almost flattered by his concern for me. This was a fatherly side of Haymitch that I never would have imagined. After a couple more seconds, he turns and passes out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

I sit up in my bed, rubbing my forehead with the palm of my hand. I notice that streams of sunlight are filtering through my bedroom window of the train and I glance at the clock curiously.

10:35 am.

I swallow hard. We'll be appearing before District One in less than two hours. Sighing, I flop down against my pillow, only to be surprised by the sound of my door opening again. Thinking it's Haymitch, I pretend to slowly stir as I listlessly roll onto my side and gaze up at his face, but I'm startled to see that it's Cinna standing there.

"Hey, girl on fire," he murmurs softly. "Feeling any better?"

I smile slightly and nod. "Not bad."

I grimace. My voice is nearly gone. I attempt to clear it, but only end up feeling embers ignite my throat as I let out a few harsh coughs.

Cinna's brow furrows slightly and he rests his cool hand on the back of my neck. "You still have a pretty substantial fever," he comments, eying me warily.

I shrug and allow him to help me sit up. "We were planning on wearing heavy makeup anyway, weren't we?"

Cinna smiles, though his eyes are still dark with worry. "Not quite the circumstances I had anticipated. Here," he says, handing me a water bottle. "You need to keep drinking fluids."

I take it gratefully and continue to sip it as I'm dressed into dark gray slacks and a tight-fitting white top that ties into a neat knot at the edge of my collarbone. My face is heavily layered with foundation and my eyes were redrawn with dark pencil and red eye shadow. My lashes are long and curled upwards and my hair is manipulated into a free-flowing bun, reinforced by a thin braid tied around it. I'm pleased that my shoes are not high heels or difficult in any way, they are merely a pair of black flats. As I stand in front of the mirror, I am utterly stunned by what I see.

"You're beautiful," Cinna whispers, his hands on my shoulders from behind. "Sickness and all."

I bite my lip and smile. Cinna has truly outdone himself this time around. I hardly show any outward appearance of illness and my casually formal outfit is certain to impress the luxury district.

"Thank you, Cinna,"

Cinna brushes a lock of hair from my face and gazes deep into my eyes. "Remember, Katniss, all throughout your life people will be telling you how to act and who they want you to be," He fixes me a hard stare and squeezes my shoulder. "But no one can tell you how to feel. Trust yourself in knowing that when it comes down to it, only you can decide what's right and what's wrong."

I stare at him, attempting to gauge his words for the true meaning behind them. He is obviously referring to something that he thinks I should know, but feels that the situation is too vulnerable to directly inform me. He turns toward a sketchpad and holds it to his chest, tapping it rhythmically with a forefinger, though his eyes are trained on me.

"Do you understand, Katniss?"

He sounds casual, but his eyes harbor an intensity that leaves me feeling unfulfilled with a hunger to know more. "Yes," I whisper, nodding at him.

He reads my expression for a few heartbeats, then smiles. "Alright," he says. "Good. Then let's get going, shall we? We have about a half an hour of downtime before we arrive in One."

With a hand placed on the small of my back, Cinna leads me to the common room, where Peeta is sitting on the couch with Haymitch, both dressed in matching tailored brown pants. When they see me, they both rise to their feet and stare at me like I'm some kind of zoo animal.

I feel my cheeks grow hot with frustration and embarrassment. "At ease, soldiers," I tease, trying hard to suppress my temper. "Jesus."

Peeta smiles, obviously pleased that I feel well enough to maintain my sense of humor. Effie materializes beside me, appearing from God knows where, her hand outstretched toward me. Balancing on her palm are four multi-colored tablets. I wrinkle my nose disdainfully.

"Here you are, Katniss," she chirps, flashing me a cheerful grin.

I clear my throat and reluctantly take the pills from her, staring down at them with distrust. "What do they do?" I rasp.

"Well, they should soothe your throat, for one thing," Effie says, fixing me a look. "The others should reduce your fever, suppress your cough, and clear your sinuses a bit. That should alleviate some of the pain, as well. How do you feel?"

"I'm fine," I mutter, feeling uncomfortable with the attention as I take a swig of my water bottle to swallow the capsules.

I nearly growl with frustration as Effie rests the back of her hand lightly against my forehead with a frown. "Maybe we ought to take her temperature one more time."

"Why bother?" Haymitch says, distractedly adjusting the collar of his neatly pressed navy shirt. "Looking at it will only bum us out and it's too late to cancel now." He fixes Peeta and me his snarkiest smirk. "God forbid we deprive the nation of our precious star-crossed lovebirds."

His voice is so full of resentment and his expression is so frustrated as a result of his stubborn collar that I can't help but smile. Haymitch catches my eye and dips his head in approval at me. I turn to Peeta, but he doesn't return the smile. Instead, he reaches his hand toward my face, but I duck away from him with a scowl.

"Katniss," he growls, scolding me with his eyes.

I let out a sigh of exasperation and fold my arms as Peeta places his hand on my forehead. He carefully reads my expression and then shrugs. "It's up to you," he says at last, but his tone suggests that he would prefer that I stay in bed.

But he and I both know that can't be accomplished, under the given circumstances.

"Well, then there's nothing left we can do except prep you guys for the cameras," says Haymitch.

Effie reluctantly hands out our index cards, hesitating before my face to give me a sympathetic smile. "It's going to be okay, Katniss." she assures me, resting her hand on my shoulder before moving on.

Though I appreciate the candidness of her worrying, I feel annoyed by the constant attention. I deliberately avert my eyes and take a seat at the bar, crossing my arms as Effie continues to explain the day's itinerary. Eventually, the train comes to a slow and District One flashes by us through the windows.

I let out a string of coughs, hoping to get it out of my system before we appear live before the nation once more.

"We'll be in and out in no time at all," Peeta assures me, taking my hand as we pass through the doors.

Everything else is an honest blur. I remember the high-pitched octaves of human beings resonating in a single unit of space, a sea of faces rising up to meet us. Peacekeepers are having difficulty grasping control of the situation, dancing through the crowd with weapons and randomly selecting citizens to prosecute. The chaos of the situation numbs my senses and I barely even register the introduction of the mayor. Suddenly I find myself behind the closed doors of the Justice Building with Haymitch and Peeta, formulating our demeanors before we give our speeches.

"Wake up, sweetheart," Haymitch scolds, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I blink, startled by the sudden movement. His expression softens slightly. "You've gotta focus, Katniss. I know you're not feeling well, but you really need to—"

"I feel fine," I snap, although there's very little venom in my voice. The sound of my own voice exasperates my headache. I sullenly bring a hand up to my temple.

Haymitch's sardonic expression indicates that he desperately wants to retaliate with some snarky comment, but he manages to bite back a retort. "We're almost through this, sweetheart," he assures me. "Just put on a brave face for a couple more hours."

I close my eyes, feeling the goosebumps on my arms protest against the draft that has passed through the building. My swollen throat still substantially burns and my lungs rattle with each breath, but I manage to take a deep breath and nod. "Okay," I whisper, tightly grasping Peeta's hand as a wave of nausea washes over me. "I'm ready."

"We'll come out of this together, alright?" Peeta murmurs, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

I offer him a small smile, thinking back to the moment when we stood beside the iridescence of the Cornucopia, our hands clamped around the lethal night lock berries that would jeopardize our current lives. The image of Peeta, frail and shaking with fever from his blood infection remains imprinted in my mind. Then I realize the truth of Peeta's words. Ever since the Games, everything that has happened has involved the both of us. Our destinies our intertwined. My past, present, and future forever lies with the boy with the bread.

"Together," I echo, lost in the depths of his cobalt eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey, guys! Terribly sorry for the long wait, it's been quite busy for me these past couple of weeks. I really appreciate your reviews and I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's only short, because Peeta's POV is abbreviated at this point in the plot. Enjoy!**

**- HW**

Peeta POV

Our speeches are nothing special. I'm amazed she made through it at all. She even managed to say a few words herself, despite the pandemonium beneath us. This sea of faces rises up to meet us, with hollowed eyes highlighted with the faintest traces of hope. It's impossible to suppress those human feelings when you're gazing into the heart of an innocent, deprived child whose imploring you to incite an uprising. To utilize the brief duration of our lives to impact those around us and to formulate a better world for those following us. Snow's predicament is underscored in the vengeful expressions of every citizen of District One and all senses of morality that dwell within me drive to me to join their ranks. But instead, I stand behind a podium, preaching the glory of the Capitol and accentuating the broad scope of their power over their Victors.

Unlike yesterday, no one tries to interrogate us during lunch, and thankfully Effie does all of the talking. Soon enough, we're back on the train and Katniss collapses on the couch exhaustedly, burying her face in the pillows. Almost immediately, she dissolves into a violent coughing fit. As much as I would prefer to cradle her close to my chest, I understand that she wants nothing more than to be alone after pretending to be social for the past few hours. I take the seat beside her, stroking her back thoughtfully as images of gaunt, sallow faces with hunted eyes plague my subconscious.

"Congratulations," mutters Haymitch, who stands pouring himself a drink by the bar. "You've just about completed your Victory Tour. All that's left now is the celebration in District 12 tomorrow, the party at President Snow's house next week, and then we can all go home." He tilts his head back suddenly and takes a shot, slamming the glass down onto the mahogany with exasperated force.

Katniss mumbles something from the depths of the pillows.

"What's that, Katniss?" Effie chirps, her eyes still trained on Haymitch, shadowed by disapproval.

Katniss feebly lifts her head, a scowl furrowed across her brow. "If there's even a home to go back to," she growls.

Everyone falls silent. I cast a curious glance over at Haymitch, who is clearly still registering her words. Then, in response, he pops off the top of the container of alcohol and begins to take enormous swigs straight from the bottle. I can't help but laugh at that. I catch Katniss' eye and notice that she's smiling too.

"Well," I tell her. "Nothing to do now but wait and see."

A flicker of doubt crosses her face, but it hardens with determination. Then she becomes consumed by fatigue and she slips back down into the pillows of the couch. The corner of my mouth twitches into a slight smile and I rest my hand on her shoulder, stroking her comfortingly in rhythmic circles with my thumb.

"Now hold on," Effie pipes up. "Shouldn't we congregate tonight and discuss how we are to conduct ourselves at said party?"

Haymitch waves her question away, his head tilted back as he takes another shot. Just watching him consume such high levels of alcohol makes my stomach churn uneasily.

"Oh screw it," he mutters, slouching on his stool, his elbows resting on the bar behind him. "I think they've figured out what they need to do from here. Besides," he glances over at me. "I think that this would be a good time to leave everybody to their own devices. After all," He pours himself another shot and raises his glass to us. "I think you two need to deliver one final blow to Snow before you see him in person tomorrow."

Katniss' flushed face makes an appearance once more. "What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes narrowed.

Haymitch emerges from swallowing, then rises to his feet. "I mean," he begins. "I think we need to finish strong with something memorable. Something so extreme that no one, not even Snow, could possibly doubt your love for one another."

Something stirs deep within me, but I can't quite distinguish the emotion. But here we are again, exploiting our relationship like it's some kind of tool, existing only for the purpose of repairing what's broken, but not actually representing anything meaningful. I promised Katniss that I wouldn't act wounded, but it's an outright lie. How many more times can I be broken before the pieces are too small to glue back together?

"We could get married."

I flinch, startled by the indifference in her voice.

Haymitch weighs her response carefully, trying hard not to look at me, but I can feel his gaze burning questions into my mind.

"It's going to happen anyway," she goes on. "Might as well take advantage of its timing now."

I study her expression, my own guarded. Her suggestion is casual, nonchalant. She truly doesn't fathom the spectrum of sentiment affiliated with her proposal. She doesn't understand how heavily invested I am in the thought of marrying the girl on fire.

"Fine," I mutter, my face taut as I try to suppress my emotions. "Let's do it."

I can feel their curious stares scoring the back of my neck as I storm out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Katniss POV

"Leave him alone," Haymitch had instructed in a grave tone.

As I lie on the couch, my fingers absently caressing the empty space where Peeta had been just hours before, the image of his pained expression relentlessly flickers through my thoughts, haunting my conscience and reminding me once more of my potential to hurt the people that care about me.

"I don't understand," I said, staring at my mentor quizzically. "I thought that's what he's always wanted."

"He _has_ always wanted it," Haymitch said, studying the lip of his bottle of booze with particular interest. "Only not like this."

I frowned as the implication of his words sunk in. With a sigh, I slumped back into the couch pillows, my heart hollow with regret.

Peeta has done so much for me and even when I think I'm doing the right thing and making him happy, it turns out I just naturally lack the sensitivity toward the human spectrum of emotions. Eventually, Haymitch gets up and leaves the room, taking his booze with him. I remain completely still on the couch for several hours, waging a war between Peeta and Gale in my head until finally I'm too exhausted by my thoughts to even maintain reason anymore. I slowly rise to my feet, glancing swiftly out the window and noting the soft glow of twilight.

I shuffle down the hallway to my room and immediately collapse into my bed, not bothering to shower off the heavy layer of make-up or change into my pajamas. I close my eyes, feeling drained of all emotions, and sink into a punctuated, restless slumber.

It's well past midnight when the nightmares hit. I'm passing through the Seam on my way to the Hob when one of my neighbors normally docile, elderly bloodhound stalls my journey and transforms into one of the mutts, his lips peeled back in a menacing snarl. His eyes reflect those of Cato's, filled with immeasurable rage and vengeance, his jaws dripping with blood. His dark blue eyes are as if he is seeing past me, not quite recognizing my face yet. Then the dog's lips begin to form words.

"When we find her, I kill her in my own way, and no one interferes."

I distinctly remember hearing these words come from Cato's mouth. Like an edited shot from previous Games, the audio of my memories have been strategically placed in the sanction on my brain that harbors fear and has offered me with the most unsettling of nightmares. Then the dog's eyes lock on my face and a flicker of recognition drives its features to contort with fury. The following words have been completely fabricated by my mind, but that doesn't make it any less scary.

"Try coming home to your sister after this, Twelve!"

His haunches tense as he springs at me with outstretched jaws, locking around my throat, but before he can tear open my throat, I jolt awake with a hoarse gasp, which only launches me into a stubborn fit of coughing. It takes a few minutes to subside and by the time I'm done, I'm sweaty and trembling. I sit up and wrap my arms around my knees, trying hard to suppress the lingering sensations of the dream, but I can still smell blood. I gag slightly, but the feeling passes and I rest my forehead on my knees in defeat.

I want Peeta here with me. I want him to be the voice of reason that he is and to rationalize my most intense fears. But most of all, I want to feel needed. Peeta is always there when I need him, providing for me, and protecting me from the night. If not just once, I want him to succumb to his anxieties and allow me to ground him back to reality. I want to discuss our fictional experiences that we share every night, because no other victor has ever had the privilege of having a partner to support you during the Victory Tour.

Peeta.

I want so much for him. I never meant to seem indifferent toward him, I just did what I needed to survive. But now that I've invested so much of my life into the boy with the bread, I find myself unable to imagine life without him.

Disgusted with myself and my self-centered desires, I stumble out of bed, nearly falling flat on my face, and step out into the hallway. I gracelessly make my way toward Haymitch's room and then softly knock on his door. After about a minute of standing in the dark, it registers that he's probably too drunk to hear me. I pound on the door a little louder, but not loud enough to wake any of the others. Eventually, though, Haymitch appears, his sullen face shadowed with fatigue and post-drunken stupor, but it's clear that I've just recently relieved him from a nightmare of his own. I can recognize the subtle glow of reprieve in his eyes, terror still looming fresh and memorably.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" he growls, though I can tell he doesn't feel that bitterly toward my waking him up. I'm surprised he had been asleep at all.

"I need him," I whisper, slumping against the doorframe in a careless manner.

"What?" he says, squinting at me as though I had sprouted wings.

I can feel tears brimming in my eyes, but I have no explanation to support exactly why I've come to my mentor in such an emotional state. "This isn't about pleasing Snow or even about quelling any uprisings in the districts," I sniffle, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "This is about Peeta and me and how much we need each other. I don't want him to think I don't care about him, because that's not true. I'm not marrying him because I think it's our next best strategy of survival through this next stage in our lives. It's convenient, but that's not why I wanted to do it."

All the while that I'm speaking, Haymitch's face grows more and more serious and finally as there's a slight delay in the continuation of my babbling, he raises a palm to my forehead and genuine concern etches his features. "Your fever's through the roof, girl,"

But I don't care. I don't let that prevent me from getting the words out. "I've never planned on getting married, but not for the reasons most people would think. I never believed that marriage was a symbol of two people's love for each other, I always saw it as a couple's mutual need to support one another."

I take a small hitching breath, trying hard to banish the thought of Gale and I depending on one another in the past couple of years. That sort of unspoken alliance isn't what I'm trying to relay with Haymitch.

"I've never wanted to get married because I never liked the thought of needing to depend on anybody," I whisper, a cool draft in the hallway making me shiver. "I liked to think that I could hold my own. That I didn't need anybody enough to commit the rest of my life to them."

I see a flicker of recognition pass through Haymitch's face and I know that I'm speaking for the both of us now.

"Only," I say with a slight shudder. "I never expected that I would need anyone as much as I need Peeta."

Haymitch studies me carefully as my voice catches and I'm wracked by a bout of violent coughing. After a few seconds of watching me struggle to regain control, he takes a step forward and places a hand awkwardly on my back, leading me back towards my room.

"Go back to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"Haymitch," I begin in protest only to double over spluttering once more.

"No more," he says, settling me back down into my bed. "You seriously need to slow down, sweetheart. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

He's one to talk, I think to myself. His breath reeks of alcohol, but I don't comment aloud. I stiffen as he palms my forehead again with a calloused hand, then shoots me a scrutinizing look.

"I'm going to go get somebody," he says at last, rising from the bed. "We really need to bring your temperature down."

"No!" I cry, lunging forward and snagging the coattails of his shirt. "Please, Haymitch, I'm trying to talk to you."

He lets out a huff of frustration and scowls at me. "Katniss, you need help. You're not making any sense."

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," I snap, directing the force of my whirlwind of emotions at him now.

His expression softens and grows pensive and I know I've won this one. "Katniss," he growls. "You don't think he already knows all of this? Why the hell do you think he's upset? Because he thinks you don't want to marry him?"

I stare at him, struck dumb by his words.

"For cryin' out loud," he huffs. "Katniss, it's because he wanted you to come to this conclusion on your own time, not feel pressured into it by the Capitol. He believed that if you genuinely wanted to marry him for his companionship, then maybe later down the road you would realize that you may actually have feelings for him."

His words hang in the air and it takes me a couple of seconds to grasp their meaning. "But I do have feelings for him," I say at last.

Haymitch crosses his arms and scowls. "This boy loves you unconditionally," he says slowly. "Can you say the same?"

As if summoned by imagination, Gale's face is conjured up before my eyes, swimming in my unfocused gaze. "Not unconditionally, no." I whisper.

He raises his eyebrows slightly and gestures toward me with his hand. "And that's why Peeta's bummed out. Because he wanted you to come to these conclusions by yourself. Not have you waking me up at 1:15 in the morning to give you boy advice."

I study my hands, my face burning with guilt and shame.

"Now, just. . .Stay put," Haymitch says, backing out of the room. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't you dare go anywhere."

As if mechanically built to disobey orders, as soon as he's out of sight, I unsteadily rise to my feet and slip out of the room.


End file.
